


Bruised

by notgottaname



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, some descriptions of mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notgottaname/pseuds/notgottaname
Summary: ‘What the hell, Holtz?’ Erin half whispers half yells, her fingers are shaking, gripping her door knob. She doesn’t want to wake Mr O’Malley opposite. ‘It’s two in the morning.’
‘Yes, sorry about that. I seem to have found myself in a bit of a pickle.’ The voice is Holtzmann; in tonality and inflection, but there is an undercurrent that Erin isn’t used to, a quiver to her words that is unsettling in its unfamiliarity.
Or
Holtzmann gets mugged and goes to Erin's for help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks!
> 
> So this is a little less light than my usual stuff. It's still fluffy though i promise!
> 
> Please let me know if you liked it, or if you didn't, or if it's riddled with errors because i wrote it after three cups of coffee and limited sleep!
> 
> Also, Tumblr is a thing - @notgottaname

At first, Erin thinks she is dreaming. The steady bangs- staccato and reverberating- sound in increasing loudness. A metronome, in which each beat is a hammer hit against her nail of consciousness. Eventually she wakes – the banging continues.

It is seconds, clouded by the blur of sleep, before it registers that the sound is coming from somebody knocking on the door of her apartment. She jolts upright in in the dark of her bedroom, panicked and unnerved. Her heart is already racing, a cold sweat had broken across her skin before she had awakened, her body subconsciously reacting before she is fully cognisant.

The noise awakens a residual fear from a memory so ingrained in her psyche it feels like it is a part of her. A dark figure at the end of her small children’s bed, rapping methodically on her bedroom door. Loud enough to disrupt her slumber, quiet enough to not wake her parents.

Erin’s digital alarm glows 01:49 and the banging fails to cease. She feels breathless, an anxiety prickling up her spine similar to the feeling she gets right before a bust. It’s an impending sense of dread, usually tempered by the thrum of adrenaline coursing through her veins. This time, however, there is no dampener. The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Her mind ticks over as she cautiously makes her way out of her bedroom, _she is alone in her apartment, there is a security door on the ground floor, any of her friends would’ve called first…_

In the living room, the fairy lights on her Christmas tree are still on. They glow delicately in golden sparkles, like embers in the night. It’s usually comforting in the darkness. She flicks the main lights on as the banging continues, she wishes she had a weapon of some sort, misses the cool steel of a proton gun against her palm. Her fingers tighten on reflex.

The peephole on her door has been broken since she moved in, this is the first time Erin curses her own procrastination in reporting the problem because now she is blind in front of a white door.

‘Who-‘ Her voice cracks, apprehension and fear are icy fingers around her voice box. ‘Who is it?’ Erin tries to sound confident, wills her voice to be assured so as to not sound like the jittery bag of nerves that she actually is.

The knocking stops, there follows several seconds of silence that feel displaced and prolonged before a recognisable voice cuts through like a shard of light through the pitch black.

‘It’s the ghost of Christmas past. I’ve come to show you the errors of your ways.’

The familiarity of the voice warms away the cold sting of goose bumps crawling across her skin. Erin would recognise that voice anywhere.

‘Holtzmann?’

‘The errors are your tweed suits.’ Holtzmann says, Erin opens her door but keeps it on the chain, she’s still wary, she has heard many times the story of Abby’s possession and will be taking no chances. This occurrence is unprecedented, strange, a red flag. ‘I’m kidding. I love the tweed.’

The hallway light is dim and Erin can only see one side of Holtzmann through the ajar door. She looks disarrayed, more so than usual. Her hair is wild and covering the side of her face that Erin is privy to.

‘What the hell, Holtz?’ Erin half whispers half yells, her fingers are shaking, gripping her door knob. She doesn’t want to wake Mr O’Malley opposite. ‘It’s two in the morning.’

‘Yes, sorry about that. I seem to have found myself in a _bit_ of a pickle.’ The voice is Holtzmann; in tonality and inflection, but there is an undercurrent that Erin isn’t used to, a quiver to her words that is unsettling in its unfamiliarity.

‘What kind of pickle?’ Erin asks, still behind the relative safety of mahogany.

Holtzmann takes a step back, allowing more of her person to become visible. Her clothes are skewed and dirty but not in the typical Holtzmann way. Instead of paint and motor-oil there’s mud and grime. Erin spots her wayward tie- ripped at the knot.

‘A bad pickle.’ The blonde attempts to clarify. She hasn’t looked up yet, has remained eyeing the (apparently fascinating) hallway carpet. Erin is left looking at the top of her head. There’s a leaf in her hair.

‘You couldn’t have called me first?’

‘That’s part of the pickle.’

Erin sighs, shuts her door and slides off the chain. She knows Holtzmann, even this uncharacteristically unsettled version, and feels no trepidation in opening the door fully now she is sure there’s no danger.

Holtzmann is now leaning back against Mr O’Malley’s door, she’s tipping the wreath he has hung on the knocker. She is still focused on the floor, wringing her fingers and although Erin has been rudely woken and terrified by her actions she is struggling to be mad at this apprehensive version of the usually overtly cocky engineer.

Erin waits, because sometimes Holtzmann needs time, sometimes she needs stagnancy to let her mind run effectively. Erin leans against the door, suddenly aware she is only dressed in shorts and a tank top. The movement allows more illumination from her living room to brighten the hall and the blonde. That is when Holtzmann looks up.

Erin doesn’t see it at first; the straw-coloured, unkempt mop had obscured her vision, but as Holtzmann looks up Erin catches sight of the huge bruise marring the left side of her face.

Erin sucks in a shocked breath; the sound pulls Holtzmann’s eyes to her own.

‘Jesus, Holtz.’ Erin steps forward, eyes focused on the purple bruise. It looked painful, it looked fresh. It looked like a punch.

Holtzmann dips her head self-consciously as Erin steps closer. Using two fingers Erin lightly touches her friend’s chin, tilts her face up and sideways. Erin uses her free hand to push tangled hair out of the way so she can see the injury.

Holtzmann’s eye is starting to swell; it’s puffy underneath and closing slightly. The bruise surrounding is ringed blue and purple, swirling outward down her cheek and across her temple. It is the colour of a galaxy.

‘What happened?’ Erin whispers, worry lacing every word.

Holtzmann brings her own hand up to touch Erin’s. There is blood and scrapes littering her knuckles and dirt under her fingernails. She pulls Erin’s hand away from her face, brings their joined hands down. Holtzmann’s fingers are cold and trembling. Erin tightens her grip.

‘Got mugged.’ Holtzmann answers, shrugging one shoulder. ‘Hey, could we maybe do this inside? I hightailed it outta there but I’m not one hundred percent certain they didn’t follow me.’

Erin can feel her eyes widen in panic as she ushers the younger woman into her apartment and onto her couch.

‘Here, sit. I’ll get you some ice.’

The kitchen in her apartment adjoins the living room and she can barely take her eyes of Holtzmann as she wraps ice cubes in a towel, there’s a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach.

When she rounds the couch, Holtzmann is removing her coat. It’s brown and heavy and she seems to be struggling to take it off. It leads Erin to think that it was more than just her face on the receiving end of a heavy fist.

Sitting down next to the blonde, she uses her hand to hold Holtzmann’s head steady as she applies the makeshift icepack to her black eye. Her hand anchors protectively at the nape of her neck.

‘What happened?’ Erin asks again.

Holtzmann sighs, ‘Worked late at the firehouse, took the subway, when I got off at my stop some rapscallions jumped me. It’s kinda funny cus dressing like a weirdo usually deters these types of occurrences.’ She grins, it doesn’t meet her eyes but it pulls and warps the galaxy.

Erin tries not to imagine Holtzmann surrounded, backed up against a wall, alone, afraid. But the images pile up in her mind’s eye, like a flipbook of possible scenarios.

‘They got my wallet, keys, phone and a few decent digs in my ribs.’ Holtzmann tries a reassuring smile, brings her hand up to take over the ice application from Erin. The grazed knuckles catch her attention again.

‘You fought back.’ She realises.

‘Not effectively. Never was very good at fisticuffs.’ She laughs lacking humour, then winces, touches her ribs.

‘Show me.’ Erin’s tone offers no argument.

Holtzmann stands, removes her tie and Erin tries not to grimace at the red ring around her neck. The mental flip book stops on a rough hand yanking the knot, violently pulling, enough to rip.

Holtzmann keeps undressing, removing her vest and then lifting he shirt underneath, revealing a huge bruise across her ribs. It is a twin of the one around her eye, blue and purple but much deeper in hue and much larger in size. An Andromeda on her ribs to the Milky Way on her face.

Another image, this time of Holtzmann sprawled on the muddy ground, curled up for protection as a heavy boot slams down on her side. A scream, a crunch, a laugh.

‘Oh, god.’ Erin’s hand comes up automatically and tenderly touches the blemished skin. The blonde is warm under her fingers. ‘We need to go to the hospital.’

Holtzmann shakes her head, pulls her shirt back down. ‘I’m fine, do you know how many lab incidents I’ve been in? 213 and counting. Trust me; I know what broken ribs and a concussion feel like. This isn’t that.’

‘Well, excuse me for not trusting the expertise of someone who has apparently sustained repeated brain injury. I think you need to be checked out and we need to call the police-‘

‘Why?’ Holtzmann interrupts, ‘The wallet they stole I found in a dumpster and it contained roughly thirteen dollars, I’m pretty sure my phone is radioactive at this point, I can get new keys cut and I didn’t see their faces so…don’t see the point.’

‘Holtz.’

‘I’m fine, Erin. Hunky dory, even.’

‘Jillian-‘

‘Can I use your bathroom?’ Holtzmann cuts her off, standing up and making it clear that the conversation is over.

‘Yeah, it’s-‘ Erin points in the general direction. ‘I’ll get you some pyjamas to wear.’

Holtzmann nods and makes her way to the bathroom, discarding her boots haphazardly on the way.

 

* * *

 

 

After Erin has found an oversized t-shirt for Holtzmann, and passed it blindly to her through the bathroom door, she decides to make them both some tea.

Erin stares at the steam from the kettle for a long time. She wishes that she understood the engineer better, wishes she could pluck the thread of her tightly woven façade and unravel her a little- not completely, just enough. Enough to help, enough to _see_.

The tea is lukewarm by the time she realises that Holtzmann still hasn’t exited the bathroom.

Erin knocks twice and calls her name, to no avail. Deeply ingrained etiquette is all but forgotten as she opens the door uninvited, to see Holtzmann stood staring at her own reflexion in the mirror. She is in boxers and Erin’s large shirt and there are quiet tears streaming down her face. The sight hurts Erin like a blow to the heart.

‘Oh, sweetheart.’

Without even thinking twice, Erin tugs Holtzmann into her arms, into a tight embrace that probably hurts Holtzmann’s ribs but she hugs Erin back just as hard, maybe even harder. She buckles a little into the hold, folding herself into Erin.

The younger woman shakes in her arms, sobs without sound into her shoulder. Erin feels a fierce need to protect this beautiful person erupt within her, she wants to wrap her up in a cocoon of safety, to surround her with love and affection and never let this happen again. She wants to kiss the bruises away, to kiss the tears away, to…to…kiss. Her hold tightens with this new revelation.

Erin feels each tear like they are falling from her own eyes, feels each bruise like a punch to her own body.

They cling to each other for a long time.

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually, Erin leads them to her bed, still in each other’s arms, still connected.

Under the covers Holtzmann shuffles into her open arms and presses close. Her arms snake around Erin’s waist, their legs tangle and she practically shoves her still damp face into the crook of Erin’s neck. Erin grips the blonde hard, still trying to protect, to offer refuge.

In her haste to get them to the bedroom she left the door open and the Christmas lights from the living room twinkle through the door like little fireflies.

‘Why did you come here?’ Erin asks when the quivering has stopped, when her breaths are slowing and her grip is loosening.

‘Huh?’ Holtzmann grunts into warm skin. Erin shivers.

‘Why here?’

Erin knows that Patty’s place is closer from Holtzmann’s stop, followed then by Abby’s. Her apartment is the furthest away.

‘Where else would I go?’ Holtzmann answers into her neck, like it is obvious, like there is nowhere else she would even consider going.

It makes Erin’s heart light, it makes her smile. _Holtzmann_ makes her smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Dawn is breaking, the sun peeking into her room in an auburn glow, casting shadows that are crisp and sharp.

Neither of them have slept, content to just rest surrounded in each other’s arms. It is the most intimate Erin has ever been with anyone.

‘This isn’t how I planned to get into your bed.’ Holtzmann smiles, Erin can feel its impression against her collarbone like a pressed flower. She sounds like her normal self again, assured and smug but in an almost adorable way.

Erin is reminded that bruises fade, that nothing is permanent and everything permeable. It makes her feel better.

‘You planned to get into my bed?’ She can’t seem to wipe the smile from her face.

‘I had a few strategies under my hat.’

‘I don’t think I want to know…’

‘One of them involved a sock puppet.’

Erin snorts, lets her fingers follow up the bumps of Holtzmann’s spine over thin cotton.

‘I’d get mugged again in a heartbeat if it’d land me in this position again.’

Erin laughs, ‘There are easier ways you know?’

‘Pray tell?’ Holtzmann pulls her face away from Erin’s neck to smirk at her. Her eye is much more swollen and a darker purple but her eyes have the glint back in them that was missing last night.

Erin feels Holtzmann’s fingers slip up the hem of her tank top; featherlike fingertips tickle the skin of the stomach. It is delightfully distracting.

Erin bites down on her bottom lip through a smile, ‘You could’ve just asked.’ She tells her and stops mapping the contours of Holtzmann’s spin to slide her hand over to tender ribs, she sweeps her thumb back and forth.

‘Really?’ Holtzmann asks, her face alight like a kid at Christmas.

Their bare legs are still intertwined under the sheets. Holtzmann shifts and her thigh slides upwards sending an alarming jolt of pleasure through Erin.

She nods quickly in answer, finds it strange that it doesn’t feel strange, like this is so natural between them, there is no awkwardness at all. It is like this has been happening for years. There’s an ease between them that feels like coming home.

‘That’s all it would take to get someone into your bed?’

Erin takes a calming inhale, ‘That’s all it would take to get _you_ in my bed.’

There is a second of pregnant silence in which Holtzmann seems to be contemplating how serious Erin is. She obviously sees an answer in Erin’s eyes because the next thing she knows the blonde is whipping off her borrowed t-shirt.

‘Okay,’ Holtzmann grins, ‘we’re having sex now.’

Erin splutters, Holtzmann is completely naked from the waist up and Erin is definitely ogling. ‘But-we-you-you’re covered in bruises.’ Her hands are already smoothing over pale skin despite her words.

Holtzmann crawls fully on top of Erin, looks down at her with an odd mix of adoration and seduction. Like she is really hungry and really happy about it.

They are parallel lines, forehead to forehead, breast to breast, nose to nose.

Holtzmann’s lips flutter like wings of a butterfly against her own as she whispers, ‘Wanna add some more?’

Erin can only nod.

 


End file.
